


The One Where They Do Laundry

by rookerrogue



Series: humanformers vibez [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humanformers, M/M, Slice of Life, Teenage Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rookerrogue/pseuds/rookerrogue
Summary: Humanformers Hotlock slice of life!  What if. . . we did laundry together. . . and we were both gay and stupid 😳
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Hot Rod & Optimus Prime
Series: humanformers vibez [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896529
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	The One Where They Do Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> [HUGE FUCKING ENORMOUS THANKS TO MY BETA](http://bmac413.tumblr.com/)
> 
> for [chance!](https://cosmicprinse.tumblr.com/)
> 
> way too much work than was necessary went into this and i don't regret a second
> 
> THE TIKTOKS ARE CLICKABLE REPEAT THE TIKTOKS ARE CLICKABLE

“Dad?” Hot Rod called, swinging his legs over the edge of his bunk bed and jumping down. “You haven’t left yet, right?”

He’d stayed up  _ way  _ too late last night, not that he had  _ wanted _ to, but he’d  _ finally  _ succeeded in annoying Deadlock into getting a burner phone so they could text (he really had no idea why his boyfriend was so paranoid about phones, but at least Deadlock had proven to be responsive to Hot Rod’s whining, which Hot Rod counted as a win). They’d texted all night, which meant Hot Rod hadn’t gone to sleep until five-thirty, which in turn meant that it was one-thirty in the afternoon when he finally woke up. 

“Dad?” Hot Rod repeated, pulling on a T-shirt he’d gotten from the 1975 tour last year and poked his head out of the bedroom door. No answer. 

_ Great.  _ Dad had probably already left. Hot Rod hoped he’d at least gotten pizza rolls to leave in the freezer for Hot Rod since he’d be gone the rest of the day. It wasn’t like Hot Rod could  _ go _ anywhere to get food, what with his precious 2001 Toyota Solara currently out of commission. Surprisingly, a smattering of lucky stickers hadn’t saved it from a fender bender. And since neither of them were really car guys, they’d had to send it into the shop for the weekend. 

_ Ah.  _ Making his way downstairs, Hot Rod noticed a yellow sticky note plastered on the edge of the kitchen island. So, Dad hadn’t abandoned him completely. Hot Rod assumed the note probably read something along the lines of  _ “My beautiful baby boy, I’m so sorry I had to leave you while you slept like an angel upstairs. To make up for my abandonment, I’m bringing you something cool from Chicago. Like those flame-print Converse you wanted.”  _ Yeah, that’s probably what it said. __

Hot Rod made a grab for the sticky note, and ruffled his hair with one hand absentmindedly.

**Hot Rod,** the note actually began,  **please clean up the house while I’m gone.** Followed by a list of chores:

  * **Vacuum ( _Whole house_ )**


  * Wash any dishes you use / Run dishwasher


  * Pick up your room


  * Do your laundry



_ Damn. _ Hot Rod sighed, putting the note back on the island. Well, Dad didn’t have to worry about any dishes getting dirty. Hot Rod didn’t plan on cooking anything non-microwavable in the foreseeable future, but the rest of it. . . Well, those shouldn’t take  _ too  _ long, right? He still didn’t really know how to do laundry that well, what with Dad usually taking the initiative on that front-- the most Hot Rod had really done was relocate his clothes from the washer to the dryer, but how hard could it be, right?

“Hope he at least picks up cheesecake on the way back,” Hot Rod muttered, and headed to the closet to retrieve the vacuum.

It took him about an hour to vacuum the house and pick up his room-- aided, of course, by a playlist populated generously with a good variety of 80’s rock songs (and occasional Spotify ads begging him to upgrade to Spotify Premium). And then it was time to go to the kitchen and look for pizza rolls. 

During the search for his sodium-high snacks, Hot Rod came to the conclusion that doing laundry was hard and also something he could  _ definitely  _ put off for a while. He found the pizza rolls stuffed in the back of the freezer and microwaved a plate for some “me” time.

As it turned out, his “me” time extended for much longer than expected (by no fault of his own! How could he have predicted that he’d hyperfixate on TikToks for  _ five hours?). _ By now it was well past seven o’clock and his head was kind of hurting because he had the screen brightness up all the way, and he was about ready to take some melatonin and pass out. 

Of course, Dad waited until he had already popped the two little pills into his mouth and started chewing to finally text him.

**Today** 4:04 PM  
[](https://vm.tiktok.com/JJpGqfw/)  
**Today** 6:27 PM  
[](https://vm.tiktok.com/JJpq7d3/)  
  
  
**Read** 7:32 PM **Today** 7:34 PM  
Hey, Hot Rod. I’m at the hotel safe. I’ll be back tomorrow around noon-- please make sure to have your chores done when I get home. Love you.  
  


“Oh, shit,” Hot Rod muttered. 

He still had mounds of laundry to do and little idea how to do it. He cast about frantically for a solution; with a ray of brilliant inspiration, one came to him. Deadlock. Deadlock lived on his own. He would know how to do laundry.

Hot Rod pulled out his phone.

**Today** 7:35 PM  
hey deadlock are you up  
  
yeah  
  
can you come over pls  
  
why?  
  
need ur help  
  
nothing serious tho  
  
your dads not home right  
  
nope still gone  
  
getting his shot refills from The Windy City  
  
haha are u still scared of him lmao  
  
fuck off  
  
be there in ten  
  
ty babe :3  
  


__ Deadlock was nothing if not determined and reckless on a motorcycle, and so he  _ did  _ make it in ten minutes. 

“Coming in through the front door,” he remarked when Hot Rod greeted him at the entrance. “That’s new.”

“Come on,” Hot Rod said, laughing, as he pulled Deadlock inside.

“Your neighbor with the little white dog gave me one hell of a dirty look,”

Deadlock added, following Hot Rod through the entryway and glancing around curiously, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets as though he might break something. “So. You gonna tell me what I’m here to help you out with?”

“Okay, so this way,” Hot Rod instructed, leading Deadlock back to the laundry room. Deadlock eyed him, looking confused and a little bit skeptical. “Do you know how to do laundry?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh, thank God. Can you help me?”

Deadlock snorted. “Sure, rich boy. Where’s your shit?”

“Got it all right here, and don’t call me rich, it’s a slur,” Hot Rod said, pointing an accusatory finger at Deadlock. 

“Okay, put the clothes in. You’re gonna want to use soap, right? Where’s your soap packets?”

“My  _ what?”  _ Hot Rod said, dumping his laundry sideways into the washer.

“You know, the. . . little packets of soap?” Deadlock gestured helplessly. “That you. . . buy from the dispensers. . .”

Hot Rod indicated the general lack of coin-operational soap dispensers in his laundry room. 

“Oh,” Deadlock said. “Yeah. Guess you don’t have those.”

“Nope.”

“Do you have. . . liquid soap?”

“There’s some in the kitchen,” Hot Rod said dubiously. “Dish soap.”

“I’m sure that’ll work,” Deadlock said.

A moment later, Hot Rod had retrieved the bottle of dish soap and brought it to the laundry room. “So I just put it in on top of the clothes?”

“There’s a little-- a place to pour it in, I think,” Deadlock pointed out, sounding less sure of himself by the minute. 

“Ah, I see it. How much do I put in?”

Deadlock shrugged. “I guess however much you want your clothes to be clean?”

Hot Rod unscrewed the bottle lid and poured what seemed to him like an appropriate amount of dish soap. Maybe about half-way. “Is that enough? No, it’s not enough, is it? That’s not enough.” He poured more out, filling the entirety of the cup-looking thing. “There! That’s probably good.”

“See? You didn’t even need me.” Deadlock smirked, reaching around Hot Rod to close the washer lid and fiddle with some switches; Hot Rod stepped back, perfectly content to let Deadlock mess around with the complicated mess of dials that were more reminiscent of a goddamn  _ Guardians of the Galaxy-esque _ spaceship than a clothes washer.

“Well, you can stay for a little bit and cuddle, if you want,” Hot Rod offered, poking his index fingers together. He couldn’t stop  _ doing  _ that.

Deadlock smacked his hands. “Stop it.”

“I mean, I just took some melatonin, so if you get me in a dark room I  _ will  _ pass out on you,” Hot Rod offered. “Come on, just stay the night? You can book it tomorrow before Dad gets home.”

Deadlock tilted his head. “Just cuddle?”

“Just cuddle.”

Deadlock smiled. “Sure. Why not.”

If Hot Rod had managed to stay awake for more than a few minutes after he and Deadlock had snuggled in bed together, he would have admitted that he  _ did _ have an ulterior motive for asking his boyfriend to stay the night. Hot Rod knew Deadlock didn’t sleep much. On the very few times they  _ had _ slept together-- well, not  _ slept together, _ but you know,  _ slept  _ together-- Deadlock would tuck his head under Hot Rod’s chin and sleep  _ hard. _

__ Hot Rod drifted contentedly into consciousness what felt like a few hours later, blinked one or two times, and slowly took stock of the room around him and Deadlock still dozing on his chest, breathing softly. This was nice. 

He lifted his phone to squint at the screen.

This was also 11:30am.

“Deadlock, wake up!” he yelled, bolting upright. Deadlock scrambled off of him, looking around wildly. “You gotta go, dude, Dad’ll be home in half an hour.”

“Okay, okay,” Deadlock muttered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “Thanks for having me, or whatever, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, babe. Gimme a kiss.” Hot Rod grinned, tilted his head up impatiently, received said kiss, and shooed Deadlock off the bed and onto the floor. “Now get outta here!”

He waited until the rumble of Deadlock’s motorcycle engine faded into the distance before he climbed out of his bunk and wandered downstairs.

He considered heating up some more pizza rolls for breakfast, but  _ re _ considered; Dad would no doubt bring home  _ something  _ edible, and if it was from Chicago, it’d be worth starving himself another half hour. He settled down at the kitchen table and flipped open the textbook he’d left there the last time he’d made himself study; he’d  _ almost  _ started to focus on the contents when the sound of a key turning in the front door’s lock rattled through the house.

“Hey, Dad!” he called, waving from the table. 

“Hey, Roddy,” Dad said, smiling at him as he pushed the door closed with his foot. Hot Rod noticed that he  _ was  _ indeed carrying a promisingly-shaped takeout box in addition to his plastic bags. “Did you get your chores done while I was gone?”

“Yessir,” Hot Rod sing-songed, closing his neglected textbook and jumping to his feet, making a beeline for the takeout. “Kinda had a little problem with the washer, but I figured it out.”

“A little problem? How?” Dad said incredulously. He relinquished the box, and Hot Rod made a break for the island. It was  _ definitely  _ a cheesecake. “Hot Rod? What kind of problem?”

“Oh,” Hot Rod said, pausing in his quest to tear the box open. “I couldn’t really figure out how to like, start it at first? Or what soap to use?”

“There’s detergent in the cabinet above the washer,” Dad said, and cocked his head. “Did you use the detergent?”

“Uh. . .” Hot Rod said eloquently. He was beginning to realize that maybe Deadlock didn’t really know as much about washing clothes as he’d thought.

Before he could say anything else, Hot Rod heard the the door to the laundry room open, followed by a long stretch of silence from his father.

“Dad?” Hot Rod asked, nervous now. “What is it?”

Dad turned to look at him. His mouth worked minutely for a bit, looking as if he were trying to work out what exactly he wanted to say. “Roddy,” he managed finally, “can you come look over here?”

That didn’t sound good.

Cautiously, Hot Rod stepped around the island toward the laundry room door. “Yeah Dad. . .?”

The sight that greeted him was. . . certainly something. A frankly shocking amount of foam was spilled out of the circular washer door, gently making its way to the ground, reminding Hot Rod of a body from a bad 80’s horror movie he’d seen in a YouTube video once. The soap on the floor-- oh God, there was  _ more  _ soap on the  _ floor-- _ coated the tiles with pure white. Like a snowbank. A goddamn snowstorm in his house, except it was  _ soap.  _ Soapstorm. __

Hot Rod turned to glance up at his father, wincing. Dad looked back down at him, his face pulled into the same pained expression.

“Does. . . uh. . .” Hot Rod coughed, folding his arms awkwardly. “Does this mean I don’t get the cheesecake?”

**Author's Note:**

> [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivT5m8dyqQU) is a compilation of all the tiktoks that roddy would have on his tiktok account


End file.
